


An Evening with Holmes' Major and Minor

by RemyRemedial



Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Non-Sexual Age Play, Spanking, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-15 06:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15407436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyRemedial/pseuds/RemyRemedial
Summary: When Greg and John are kept in London for a night longer than the Holmes brothers, it's time for them to spend some bonding time together.





	1. Arrival

It wasn’t rare that Mycroft and Sherlock spent time alone, they often met at Mycroft’s office during a case and the older sibling still made a point of visiting 221B for a game of operation when Sherlock was in need of a distraction. However, it had been a while since they had time together, just the two of them, at the cottage. It hadn’t been a decision either of them had made, it had just been a busy couple of months.

Whilst neither of them was willing to openly admit that they would appreciate that specific type of time together, both of them feeling that it would appear an admittance of weakness on their own behalf, Greg and John decided to take matters in to their own hands.

Greg had been called in for a day’s worth of meetings on the Friday and had suggested to John that he stay in London for the night too, there was a football match on and it was a chance for the two of them to spend some alone time together as well. A chance to drink pints and eat crisps until neither of them could see straight before stumbling back to 221B, making a stop at Speedy’s for something greasy on the way. It was the type of evening that both men enjoyed as a means of ‘blowing off steam’, but one that neither Holmes approved of or understood.

So, as it was, Mycroft excused himself from the god-awful meeting he had been in, early, at three o’clock and climbed into the back of a town car which wound its way out into the country. Sherlock had delivered his (well-rehearsed) dissection of the cold case he was working on to an unimpressed but quietly grateful Anderson that morning. A call from Anderson had Lestrade excusing himself from a meeting room to escort a hyped up and fidgety Sherlock into the back of a waiting car.

“But I’m fine! Can’t you give me another case to look at until you and John are done with all your meetings and boring things?” Sherlock sighed, exasperated, at Greg as he lead him out of the building with a hand between his shoulder blades. 

“No, Lock, you’ve done enough work for one week, now get in the car and go to the cottage. Your brother will be there a bit later.”

“I thought John had to stay in London for an extra night, like you?”

“No, Lock, I meant Myc.” Greg rubbed Sherlock’s back a couple of times, the misunderstanding on the detective’s part a sure sign of the headspace he was creeping into against his own will. 

“Oh…” Greg could see the gears working a little behind Sherlock’s eyes, something he had noticed in both Holmes brothers when they were tired.

“Yes, oh.” Greg opened the back door of the black car that sat waiting for Holmes the younger, “In you get,” Sherlock climbed in without any argument and sat quietly, looking up at Greg, causing the older man to smile and check over his shoulder for an unwanted audience. When he saw there was none he turned back to Sherlock.

“Right you, be a good lad for the nice driver,” Greg took Sherlock’s chin in his hand, “And best behaviour tonight, I don’t want a call from your Pa to say you’ve been naughty.” Greg raised an expectant eyebrow.

“I’ll be good.” Sherlock nodded.

“That’s my boy.” Greg ruffled Sherlock’s hair and leaned over to buckle his seatbelt for him. “Now,” Greg checked behind him again, he glanced at his watch (the meeting would just have to wait) and turned back to Sherlock, crouching down he locked eyes with the younger man. “If you get to the cottage and your Pa isn’t there yet, what do you do?”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. 

“Pa’s not there?”

“Not just yet but hopefully he won’t be long.” Greg was going to have to make a call. Both he and Mycroft had been assuming that Sherlock would be floating on an ever so slightly arrogant post-case cloud for a couple of hours, giving Mycroft time to get to the cottage before ‘little’ Sherlock arrived. That however, did not seem to be the case. “But what do you do if you’re at the cottage on your own Lock, remember what me and Pa told you?”

Arriving at the cottage alone and little was a scenario both Greg and Mycroft had prepared for and tried to teach the younger two of their family about. 

“Mm,” Sherlock thought hard, “Unlock the door,” he looked back at Greg to check he was right,

“That’s right, how do you do that?”

“Key.”

“Right again, clever boy, have you got your key?”

“No.”

“No, who has the key, Lock?”

“Driver.” Sherlock pointed a long arm at the man sat in the front who turned slightly in his seat to nod at Greg before turning back.

“That’s right, the nice driver has the key, so…”

“Driver unlocks the door.”

“That’s it, you ask the nice driver to please unlock the door,”

“Be. Polite.” Sherlock nodded once with each word, and Greg grinned. It was one of the more difficult things to instil in young Sherlock.

“Right again! So, you very politely ask the nice man to unlock the door, then what?”

“Go inside, say goodbye to driver,” Sherlock waved at the back of the driver’s head to show he knew how to do this, “Then shut the door.”

“Brilliant. Then?”

“Turn the big key,” Sherlock mimed doing so, “Take out the big key and put it…put it….” Sherlock turned to stare back at Greg, he couldn’t remember and now he was getting nervous.

“Put it by your timer.” Greg said watching to see if Sherlock understood, luckily, he did,

“Oh yeah, put it by me and John-John’s naughty timers, then bum on the sofa and toooons.” Sherlock grinned at Greg, both because he had remembered what to do and because cartoons were involved. Mycroft’s quite intense screen lock system was remote controlled, so he and Greg could have the television ready for the little guy in such an emergency. It was also the only occasion in which there was no time restraint on how long cartoons could be on. Sherlock was to sit and watch the cartoons until a grown up came home.

“That’s it, you remembered everything you smart boy, and you have your phone to call me or Pa if you need to.” Greg checked Sherlock’s pocket just to be certain. “Yep, you do. There are cartons of juice in the fridge if you get thirsty and try to remember to go to the loo if you need to pee. Right, are you ready to go?”

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded and adjusted himself a bit in his seat to get comfortable.

“Right, my big boy,” Greg kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, be good.” With that he shut the car door and they pulled away.

…

“No, obviously not, the Prime Minister cannot be seen to be-“Mycroft glanced down to see that the phone his husband had helpfully put in a red plastic case was vibrating. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, gentlemen, that’s the red phone.” Mycroft stood and walked from his office grasping the vibrating monstrosity. Greg had bought him the case as a means of embarrassing his husband, in reality Mycroft was able to pass it off as some secret line to the palace or something even more important depending on the imagination of the person he was with. Simply referring to it as ‘the red phone’ gave him a get out of jail free card in almost any situation.

Once he was a safe distance down the hall he answered,

“Yes, dear?”

“Love are you almost done with work?”

“Done? Is world peace ever…done?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do, not quite dear, why?”

“It’s Lock, he’s already getting young.”

“Ah. I see I miscalculated.”

“We both did.”

“Where is he?”

“In the car on the way to the- “

“Gregory!”

“What have I done now?!”

“You sent him off on his own?”

“Yeah, I mean I checked that he remembered what to do, I had to love, I’m not finished here.”

“You should have kept him with you.”

“Really? You think letting little Sherlock loose at the station is a good bloody idea, do you?”

“I wasn’t suggesting letting him loose,” Mycroft’s tone turned a little grave as a result of his husband’s attitude.

“So, I should have sat him at my feet? That would do wonders for his career that would!”

“I would relinquish your hold on that attitude if I were you, my love.” Mycroft sounded dangerous. Greg look a long, deep breath.

“Right, what are we going to do?”

“We aren’t going to do anything. You are going to go back to work and I am going to excuse myself, I’ll be with him shortly.”

“Thank you! Will they let you leave early?” Greg was incredibly relieved.

“Let me?” Mycroft barked out a laugh, “No one has had the authority over me to ‘let’ me do anything in forty years!”

“Is that so?” It was Greg’s turn to sound dangerous.

“Except for you, of course, my love.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“No sir.” Mycroft quickly tidied up the little mess he had made for himself.

“Better. Oh, and Myc, try to enjoy leaving work at three o’clock, like the rest of us do.”

“Three o’clock, Christ is that the time? Only three? Oh, the people I work with are just awful Gregory.”

“Well I know someone far less awful who’s waiting for you.”

“Yes, far, far less awful,” Mycroft half sighed, half cooed, “I’ll speak with you later, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

…

When Mycroft pulled up outside the cottage he was more than a little bit relieved to see that their home was not on fire. That was one of his fears ticked off the list. The door was also shut and double locked. He was able to put his key into the lock, meaning that little Lock had remembered to take out the key once he was safely inside. So far, so good. Maybe Greg had been exaggerating? Maybe he hadn’t fully regressed yet? As Mycroft opened the door and closed it behind him he was overwhelmed by the sound from the television. It was on far louder than could possibly have been comfortable for the person watching. His eyes scanned to the sofa where there was no sign of the man child he was looking for. 

His mouth fell open.

The cushions from the sofa were now discarded around the room, on the floor by the television was a small pile of empty juice cartons, at least six. The majority of the books on the bookcase had been taken off, some used to build some kind of fort, the others seemed to have been used as a rudimentary window barricade. The trail of Sherlock’s clothes leading up the stairs suggested that was where he would be found but first Mycroft wandered through into the kitchen.

The fridge door was open. The little monster had drained their sugary drinks supply, thankfully Greg’s beers were still hidden at the back. The kitchen table was strewn with discarded fruits and vegetables, each one with a single mouthful taken from them. Presumably Sherlock had been searching for a snack and found nothing to his liking in Mycroft’s fastidiously healthy fridge. The taps were running and as Mycroft stepped over the debris to turn them off he noticed a puddle of water under the freezer. Upon inspection it had not been properly shut and once inside he could see that the box of ice-poles was no more. He checked the backdoor, still locked, good. Then made his way to the door of his study. It too was still locked but the scuffed footprints on the floor and shoe prints on the lower half of the door suggested a frustrated Sherlock had attempted to gain entry.

Mycroft sighed as he took off his coat and hung it on the coat stand behind the front door, he hung his suit jacket over the banister and rolled up his sleeves.

“Sherlock.” He called, the distant thumping noise upstairs suddenly stopped, and Mycroft rolled his eyes as he started to climb the stairs. “Sherlock Holmes, where are you?” There was no response, but the boy’s bedroom door had been left ajar and Mycroft walked in to find Sherlock sat on the floor in the middle of the room. His duvet was now wrapped around him as a makeshift cape and the large wooden chest of toys had been turned on its side, all of the toys spilled across the carpet and Sherlock was sat in amongst the wreckage. Mycroft stopped in front of the tall child on the carpet and put his hands on his hips.

“Hi!” was all Sherlock said, smiling sweetly up at his Pa.

“Hello.” Mycroft took a deep breath, “Sherlock Holmes, why have you made a mess?” There were so many questions that he wanted answered in that moment, however he realised that the clarity he was looking for would not be found by interrogating his four-year-old ‘son’. It was deeply frustrating to the British Government that his usual skill set could not be used on the two tearaways that he spent his free time caring for. All of those years or practice wrecking the minds and bodies of the world’s most feared criminals and now he was stood over a six-foot-tall child, sticky with melted ice-lolly and he was completely at a loss.

“Haven’t.” Sherlock shook his head and turned his attention back to his toys, there was no time for conversation, toys were much more fun.

“Ah, ah. Look at me.” Mycroft interrupted and waited for Sherlock to comply. When he slowly did the older man continued, “Yes, you have made a mess Sherlock and you know that, now I’d like to know why.”

“Dunno.” Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

“Right, well you are going to be putting everything back in its rightful place young man-“

“Nooooo.” Sherlock kicked his heels against the floor, puffing air through his nostrils like an angry little dragon.

“No, don’t start. You are going to tidy up, then it’s dinner, bath and bed for you.”

Sherlock pouted and looked just about ready to throw an award-winning strop when his face settled, and he looked placidly up at Mycroft.

“Where’s John-John?” Sherlock asked tilting his head and looking back up at Mycroft.

“Your brother is back in London for the night-“Mycroft answered, feeling a little bit on the back foot and trying to figure out what the lanky monster was up to. Something he had learnt whilst growing into his ‘paternal’ role was that ‘children’ were far, far harder to read than adults.

“Where’s Da?”

“Da is with John-John.” Mycroft spoke evenly, casting his eyes around as though he were about to be ambushed.

“Where ‘av you been?” Sherlock blinked his wide eyes up at his Pa.

“I have been at work dear, as you well know, now that’s enough stalling thank you.” Mycroft sighed, finally catching on to Sherlock’s game.

“I don’t wanna!” Sherlock furrowed his brow suddenly very cross at the concept of tidying up the mess he had made but perhaps a little more cross that his Pa had derailed his plan.

“It’s not about whether you want to or not, Sherlock, you have made a mess and now you are going to tidy it up.” Mycroft was well aware that in reality he would be doing the majority of the tidying, Sherlock would be mostly shuffling in a close perimeter around him absent-mindedly handing him the odd item. That was how most cleaning sessions with either of the young ones went. But in their young headspace that felt a lot like real cleaning up and he needed for Sherlock to be aware of the consequences of his actions.

“Can’t make me.” Sherlock huffed, and Mycroft’s eyebrow’s shot up in surprise, he hadn’t heard that particular one for a while. Sherlock knew bloody well that Mycroft could make him do just about anything.

“Oh, I think you should know by now that I can, little boy.” Mycroft’s voice was at its most dangerous and he saw a flicker of fear run across Sherlock’s face. “Now I suggest you stand up this instant and start putting everything back.”

Sherlock was conflicted. He really didn’t want to force Mycroft’s hand into punishing him, but he also really, really, really didn’t want to tidy up the mess he had made through the house. Cleaning was one of his very least favourite activities, now he thought about it there were no other activities he hated more. Bloody cleaning, he bloody wouldn’t! Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms across his chest defiantly. 

“No.”

“I won’t tell you again, Sherlock.” Mycroft took his time as he spoke, willing himself not to show his frustration and give the little bastard a win.

“Shant.”

Mycroft let out a long sigh as he calmed himself. “Right then, we’ll start with a smacked bum and some corner time.” Mycroft leant down and took a hold of Sherlock’s upper arm, removing his duvet ‘cape’ with his free hand and pulling him up onto his feet even as he resisted. 

“No! Not fair!”

“Mm, quite fair if you ask me.” Mycroft grumbled as he hauled Sherlock over to the corner landing a few yelp worthy smacks on Sherlock’s arse as he went.

“Didn’t ask- ow!” Mycroft landed a particularly cracking slap in response to the backchat and deposited Sherlock on the floor in the corner.

“Someone’s feeling cheeky today, luckily I know how to deal with cheeky little boys.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up to glare at Mycroft, the older man placed his palm on top of Sherlock’s head and gently but firmly guided his line of sight back to the wall.

“Eye’s front, and not another peep out of you until I say or you’ll go over my knee, then straight back to the corner.” When Sherlock didn’t answer back, Mycroft straightened up with a nod to himself. He was about to move away when he heard a particularly pointed huff from the monster on the floor, he rolled his eyes and bent down one last time to give the younger man a light clip round the ear, “And no huffing either, thank you.” With that Mycroft strode across the room and sat down in the arm chair he usually used for reading bedtime stories, crossed one leg elegantly over the other and sat back to watch his naughty ward.


	2. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You lovely lot,
> 
> I knew exactly what I intended to do with this chapter and no matter how many times I rewrote it, it kept coming out....well, a bit shit.  
> I've done my best with it and I hope it's not too disappointing. 
> 
> As always, thanks for being bloody lovely. Thanks for being patient and sorry for being not very good!
> 
> I love you all very much by the way...but I'm British and stereotype or not, we're really not very good at...emotions? and such. (I didn't intend to put a question mark there, that was accidental but seems very appropriate given the context so I left it in).
> 
> Kind Regards,  
> This Idiot.

Mycroft kept an eye on his watch, five minutes should suffice. He knew from his own experience as a Holmes that five minutes could quite easily feel like an hour when his brain was unstimulated, and he expected it was no different for the less intelligent of the brothers. Furthermore, when Sherlock was feeling this age, five minutes was just about as long as he could be expected to behave without distraction.

So far there had been minimal movement from Sherlock. He had huffed and puffed a few times only for Mycroft to remind him to sit up straight and stop fidgeting but by and large he had been behaving himself. When the five minutes were up Mycroft stood from the arm chair and stretched out his tired limbs, walking over to where Sherlock was sat in the corner.

“Now then young man are you ready to do as you’re told?” Mycroft looked down at the top of Sherlock’s head to see that his pout was so pronounced it was visible even from the vertical angle. Sherlock tilted his head back to look up at the older man. “Well?”

“S’not fair.”

Mycroft sighed but retained his composure. “What’s not fair, Sherlock?”

“I did loads of grown up work at the P’lease station this mornin and now you’re making me do more grown up work.”

“You’re right, you did do a lot of very important grown up work this morning. I’m very proud of you for that.” A hint of pride lit up behind Sherlock’s eyes. “But this is different, you made a very big mess and you are going to tidy it up- “Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but Mycroft held up a hand, stopping him, he continued, “And, Lock, I’d like you to tell me why you made such a mess.”

“I dunno.” Sherlock looked away from Mycroft and shrugged.

“Did you know it was naughty?”

“I dunno!” Sherlock snapped, Mycroft wasn’t entirely surprised, he did seem genuinely quite confused about the whole situation.

“Okay, okay, watch your tone, Lock.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Sherlock gave a small nod. “We’ll come back to why you did it later, for now, you’re going to tidy it up.”

“No!” Sherlock half sighed half shouted, throwing his head back in frustration.

Mycroft took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. “Lock, this is not a ‘grown up’ thing, this has absolutely nothing to do with grown up Sherlock.”

“Doesn’t?”

“No. This is about you, my naughty little prince, you’ve made a mess and now Pa is telling you to clean it up.”

Mycroft could understand Sherlock’s confusion in this area. In the past Sherlock had kicked up a fuss early into the ‘ageing down’ period when a task he was faced with seemed too adult and therefore too likely to pull him kicking and screaming back to reality. Or when he felt that little Sherlock was being punished for something big Sherlock had done, which seemed ridiculously unfair to little Sherlock, and to the very adult Mycroft for that matter. However, in this situation, that was not at all what was going on. In this situation, Sherlock had been left unsupervised and ignored all suggestions and orders to behave himself. Mycroft hoped that he had made it sufficiently clear that the task he was asking him to complete was very much separate from the adult tasks of the morning and merely the demand of a father, frustrated (okay really bloody frustrated at this point) with the bad behaviour of his son.

Indeed, Sherlock did understand once Mycroft had explained it to him, (Mycroft was very good at explaining things in a little Holmesian manner when required) however he was no more inclined to tidy up his mess than he had been before.

“Still noh gunna do it.” Sherlock mumbled, crossing his arms across his chest and hoping that it made him seem somewhat more formidable…it did not.

The singular arched eyebrow of Mycroft Holmes however, that had formidable written all over it.

“I beg your pardon?”

Sherlock instantly shrunk a couple of inches and Mycroft saw him gulp. However, in that moment Sherlock had made up his mind that he would not be going around the house doing all of the silly busy work, he had been left all alone earlier in the day, obviously he was grown up enough to decide on these matters, nope, no cleaning for Lock today.

“Not gunna do it.” Sherlock shook his head and Mycroft sighed.

“Very well.” Mycroft retreated from his position, crowding Sherlock into the corner and sat at the end of the boy’s bed. “Come here, Sherlock.” Sherlock looked over his shoulder in Mycroft’s direction to see that he was being beckoned with a crooked finger. Fussing more than he should about such a simple request, Sherlock stood and shuffled over to his Pa. Mycroft took one of Sherlock’s wrists in each of his hands and pulled him to stand between his legs.

“Sherlock, if you believe that you have to power to refuse an order from me or your Da while you are in this house, then clearly I have not been firm enough with you. Now, you’re getting a smacked bottom and then you’re going down for a nap. I’m very disappointed in you young man.” Mycroft stopped his speech and unbuttoned Sherlock’s trousers letting them fall to the floor. In that moment he saw something change in the younger man’s eyes. As though he had just woken up, Mycroft couldn’t really put a finger on just what it was. He would store that information away and come back to it later.

He turned the younger man to the side and gave him a hard but not -full-force- smack on his backside, “Over.” He commanded. Sherlock made a pitiful whining sound, clearly already regretting his decisions since arriving at the house. He was just about to do as he was told when he turned to look at Mycroft, his thumb hovering around the outskirts of his mouth.

“I’ll do it.” He mumbled, immediately soothing himself by stuffing his thumb between his lips. Mycroft sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Lock,” he sighed, tilting forward and leaning his head against Sherlock’s waist for a moment before sitting up, “I just don’t know what’s gotten into you today, what’s going on, hm?”

Sherlock blinked at him a few times, his eyes a little bit wet. “Dunno.”

“No.” Another sigh, “If I don’t understand I can hardly expect you too, can I little one?”

Sherlock just blinked at him, now chewing on his thumb, he didn’t have any idea how he was supposed to respond so he said nothing.

“I’m going to give you five smacks, Lock,” Sherlock whined, and Mycroft tried his hardest to stay strong, “You’ve been naughty since I got here, and you know that, then we’ll tidy up and you’re going down for a nap while I cook dinner.”

Sherlock whined yet again, sounding truly sorry for himself.

“I know, but you need to learn to listen and do as you’re told, Sherlock.” Mycroft braced his left arm against the still standing Sherlock’s stomach and gave him five hearty smacks with his right. “Are you going to listen now?” Mycroft looked up into Sherlock’s watery eyes expectantly.

“Mm-hm.” Sherlock nodded, not taking his thumb from his mouth.

“Right then,” Mycroft guided Sherlock forward a little, so he could stand up too and took Sherlock’s free hand in his own. “You start putting the toys back in their chest,” he guided the younger man over to the discarded toy crate and the mound of toys around it, righting the chest and opening the lid with his own free hand, “and I’ll make your bed.”

“Mm.” Sherlock nodded again, and Mycroft managed to separate their hands for a moment as he did just that. Once the bed was made Mycroft re-joined Sherlock who was slowly moving the small toys from the pile one at a time before placing them back in the chest.

“Good boy.” Mycroft rubbed Sherlock’s back a few times, “Here, let Pa help.” Mycroft crouched down and had the chest full and the floor empty in just a couple of minutes. “There we go,” Mycroft stood back up straight, pulling Sherlock into a hug, “That’s the bedroom good as new.” Sherlock nodded, his head leaning firmly against Mycroft’s chest. “And I think you’re about ready for a nap.”

“Noo.” Sherlock shook his head this time, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“No more arguing Sherlock, we have argued quite enough for one day don’t you think? Just be a good boy and do as you’re told.”

“Not tired.” 

“Oh, I think you are,” Mycroft gently pulled Sherlock towards his bed by the hand, “Sit down for a moment dear.” Sherlock slumped down onto the bed and Mycroft picked up the trousers that had been discarded on the floor earlier, putting them down on the bed he crouched in front of the younger man. “Let’s get this silly shirt off, hm? Which pyjamas would you like?”

“Dunno.” Sherlock shrugged before his face cracked open into an enormous yawn.

“See, I know a tired boy when I see one, I’ll pick.” 

“Mm.” Sherlock nodded, watching Mycroft as he folded his ‘grown up’ clothes and put them in the bottom draw before finding a pair of pyjamas printed with adorable… were those bats? Okay.

“Lie back for me poppet and I’ll get you dressed.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Lock?”

“Will you stay when I’m sleeping?”

“I’m going to be making us some dinner, I’ll be just below your bed, in the kitchen.”

“Please stay with me.” Sherlock looked up at him with wide eyes.

Mycroft was torn, yes Sherlock was adorable but that was neither here nor there. Impossible to ignore, sure, but not really the issue. The issue was, Sherlock had been misbehaving until very recently, during that period of bad behaviour Mycroft had said he would cook dinner while Sherlock napped, he replayed his own words in his head as though they were a part of a parenting equation. Every parenting book he had ever read, and he had read so, so many, said that he had to follow through on statements of that nature. However, when Sherlock asked politely and reasonably for something, well that was an altogether fairly new phenomenon that he wanted to encourage as much as possible.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mycroft pulled up Sherlock’s pyjamas bottoms and stroked some unruly hairs from his forehead. “If you promise to keep trying to be such a good boy, you can have your nap on the sofa- “

Mycroft had to pause to contain himself when Sherlock broke out into an entirely innocent smile. It wasn’t the triumphant smile of a boy that had just won an argument, rather the smile of a boy that was quite relieved at the compromise.

“No television, no toys, just Lock and his blanket and shut eye time. I’ll be in the kitchen cooking us some dinner. How does that sound?”

“Please,” Sherlock nodded, and Mycroft grinned like an idiot.

“Yes, my polite boy, I think that sounds like a good idea, arms up,” Mycroft pulled the t-shirt over Sherlock’s arms and over his head, with a bit of wiggling on the younger man’s part he was dressed without ever having to sit up.

Sherlock held up two fingers.

“Two questions?” Mycroft asked, and it was Sherlock’s turn to nod. “Absolutely, what’s your first question dear?”

“Please can the door be open…please?” Apparently little Sherlock was starting to learn the true power of the word his dads called, ‘magic’, and Mycroft didn’t mind one bit.

“The door to the kitchen?”

A nod from Sherlock who was absent-mindedly pulling at his lip.

“Absolutely. What’s your second question dear?”

Sherlock patted his lips with his fingers.

“Ah, of course.” Mycroft turned to the bedside table and rummaged in the draw, “Is that what you’re after Master Holmes?” Mycroft held aloft a blue dummy with all of the panache of a waiter presenting the restaurants finest wine.

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, holding his mouth open until Mycroft placed the pacifier between his lips. Mycroft took the blanket from the back of the arm chair and handed it to the boy,

“Right then little man let’s go downstairs,” Mycroft anticipated Sherlock’s next move and his back spasmed. Sherlock looked up at him opening and closing his fists in Mycroft’s general direction, “Oh alright then, as you are being such a good boy.” With that the older man lifted a very floppy Sherlock up and began the descent to the living room.

Mycroft settled the sleepy Sherlock on the sofa and covered him with his blanket.

“Right then,” Mycroft crouched down by Sherlock’s head, “I’ll be just next door, I’ll pin the door open, so you just have to call me, and I’ll be right here. Now you be a good boy and close your eyes for me,” Mycroft waited for Sherlock to comply, when he did he smiled to himself and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, “Such a good boy.” He gave Sherlock a minute to doze off whilst he stroked his hair and murmured lovely things to him. Looking around the room his heart sank. Not because of the size of the mess that Sherlock had created, but because of the cause. “I may have miscalculated.” He muttered for the second time that day. 

The books at the window, the forgotten ‘fort’, he remembered the roaring noise of the television when he opened the door, as if someone was trying to block out all other noise. Maybe Sherlock hadn’t been purposefully wreaking havoc, maybe he was just small, scared and alone. He allowed himself to think of the discarded fruits and eaten ice lollies for a moment, just so he didn’t feel lie quite such a monster. But then there were the sure signs of his attempts to gain entry to his study, the only lockable room in the house. “Oh dear.” 

He gave himself a moment, still stroking the hair of the now sleeping Sherlock before he pushed himself up on creaking knees and set about tidying the room as quickly and quietly as possible.

Mycroft had the living room righted in no time and much to his relief Sherlock was still breathing deeply and the pacifier had fallen from his mouth. He pinned the kitchen door open with a door stop as he had promised and went about removing any signs or Sherlock’s lonely meltdown in the hope that once he woke up they could forget all about it.

When it came to making dinner he realised he really wasn’t hungry. Toast would do. For the sleeping prince? Mm. He rummaged in the cupboards and found a few rather substantial jars of what could be described as ‘baby food’, it wasn’t really, it was too chunky for a real baby but largely pureed and described on the jar as having ‘hidden vegetables for fussy eaters’. So that was why it was there, as he always said, Gregory thought of everything. He heated up the contents of the jar and served it in a colourful plastic bowl on the table alongside his very ‘unfun’ looking plate of toast and went to wake the baby.

He crouched down beside the sofa again and put one hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, picking up the pacifier with the other.

“Time to wake up, darling.” It took a couple of gentle shakes before Sherlock blinked himself awake. “Hello there.”

“Ello Pa.”

“Dinner time, sweetheart.”

“Kay.” Sherlock stretched under the blanket before crawling out and taking Mycroft’s offered hand. He tapped his fingers against his lips and peered up at his Pa.

“After we’ve eaten, poppet.”

“Pease pease?” 

“I thought my Lock didn’t like peas?” Mycroft asked, knowing full well what Sherlock really meant as he lead him into the kitchen.

“No, p-lease, p-lease?” Sherlock tried to correct himself.

“Ohhh, I see. Such a good boy being so polite, I’ll leave one on the table just in case, but you’ve got to try and eat some dinner for me first.”

“Kay.” Sherlock nodded and rubbed his eyes with his fists as he sat at the chair Mycroft had pulled out for him before tucking it back under the table. Sherlock lay his head in his arms on the table top and watched as Mycroft pulled up the chair across the corner from him and placed a clean pacifier in sight but out of reach.

“Do you want me to feed you? Or do you want to do it?”

“You pease.”

“My pleasure.” Mycroft pulled the colourful bowl and matching spoon towards himself and started slowly feeding him, “How’s that?”

“Mm, good.”

“Lovely.”

“Wassat?” Sherlock reached out one of the arms that was propping up his head to point at the plate by the side of Mycroft.

“That’s my dinner.”

“Toasts?”

“Yes, toast…s.”

“For dinner?”

“Yes, it’s one of the wonderful things about being a grown up, I can eat whatever I want for dinner. Sit up a little bit, darling.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” Mycroft surprised himself by poking out his tongue at the little one and tapping him on the nose with a tomato-y spoon. Sherlock giggled and did as he was told, sitting up and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Good boy. Would you like some toast?” 

“No fank-yew.”

“Are you sure?”

“Is yours.”

“Everything that’s mine is yours darling.”

“Da will be cross.”

“Will he?”

“Mycoft! Eat your bloody bekfast!” Sherlock copied word for word (the best he could when very young and very tired) the statement from Greg their last morning at the cottage.

Mycroft’s mouth dropped open and Sherlock blinked in surprise at himself. “Well I know someone who’s due a good hiding.”

“No!” Sherlock’s hands shot back to cover his bum and Mycroft dropped the bowl and spoon onto the table,

“No, no, darling, not you, not you!” He reached over and gently pulled Sherlock’s arms back, kissing his hands, “Not you sweet boy.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hands and lay them back on the table, “But your Da is going to be one very sorry boy when he gets home,” he mumbled.

“Sorry Pa.” Sherlock looked a little sheepish and Mycroft stroked his cheek,

“It’s alright, Lock, I know you didn’t mean to use a bad word, you were just copying your very naughty Da. But you’re not to say that word again.” He pointed a finger at Sherlock in the least intimidating display of authority he could manage,

“Pomise.” Sherlock nodded

“That’s my good boy.” Mycroft winked, “Now, would you like some more? Some toast maybe?”

“Pa eat.” Sherlock reached across the table and nudged Mycroft’s plate towards him before sitting back on his haunches and nodding at his Pa.

“Mm,” Mycroft looked down at Sherlock’s bowl, there were maybe a couple of mouthfuls left in it, “How about,” He moved the plastic bowl over to Sherlock, “You finish your dinner like a big boy, and I’ll finish mine?” He handed Sherlock the plastic spoon and picked up a piece of toast.

“Like a big boy?” 

“Just like a big boy.”

Sherlock grinned and started the very important job of feeding himself while Mycroft chomped away at his own dinner.

“Pa?”

“Darling?”

“Is jus me and you tonite?”

“That’s right clever clogs.”

Sherlock stopped feeding himself and starting chewing on his spoon.

“Can I seep wif you?” He managed around his mouthful of green plastic.

Mycroft was a little bit surprised by the question, it had been a long time since just he and Sherlock had shared a bed. Sherlock was usually so busy trying to show how ‘big’ he was that he demanded sleeping in his own bed.

“If you’d like.” Mycroft nodded before chuckling and gently removing the spoon from Sherlock’s grip, “Here, I’ll swap you,” he held up the pacifier and Sherlock instinctively pouted waiting for it. Once it was in his mouth Sherlock sighed and rested his head back in his arms to watch Mycroft finish eating.

Once he was finished Mycroft stood up, “You stay there my sweet boy and I’ll just tidy up.” Mycroft turned to take the plate and bowl to the sink, wincing at his choice of words and hoping Sherlock hadn’t noticed. He started washing up when he heard Sherlock speak in a very small voice,

“Pa?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry bout makin’ a mess.”

Mycroft composed himself, put the plate and bowl on the rack and turned back to Sherlock (who had removed the pacifier from his mouth and put it at arm’s length from himself as some kind of quiet apology), drying his hands on a tea towel he sat back down and reached under the table, pulling Sherlock’s chair as close as possible to his.

“Thank you for apologising, Lock,” he reached over and cupped Sherlock’s cheek in his hand, he felt Sherlock melt into his touch, “But Pa has to apologise too.” Sherlock’s eye widened in surprise. “You should never have been left alone today, I’m very, very sorry.” Sherlock pulled away from Mycroft and for a split second he thought his heart would break, then the little monster climbed over from his chair to sit on Mycroft’s lap, curling up into his chest. Mycroft instantly wrapped his arms tightly around him and rested his chin on top of Sherlock’s head.

“S’okay, Pa.”

“Mm, it’s not okay darling,” He kissed Sherlock’s curls, “But thank-you. I’ll do better.”

“I do better to.”

Mycroft chuckled and picked up the pacifier, “You are perfect as you are my dear, would you like this back?” he held it up to the man in his lap who nodded but otherwise didn’t move,

“Pease?”

“Of course. Now, how does a bath then a story sound?”

“Story?” Sherlock took the dummy from his mouth and held it in his fist, sensing a conversation.

“Any story you’d like-“he felt Sherlock smile against his chest, “Within reason.”

“Mm, no ghosty stories.”

“Quite, no ghost stories.”

“Cos Pa ges scared.”

Mycroft tapped Sherlock’s bum, “Cheeky boy.” Sherlock giggled.

“Oh, oh!” Sherlock turned and sat back so he could look at Mycroft,

“Yes, yes?” Mycroft copied him, and Sherlock scrunched up his nose into a smile.

“Story inna bath?” Mycroft pretended to be bowled over by the brilliant idea,

“What a fabulous idea! Yes darling, we can do a story in the bath.” Sherlock beamed and poked himself in the chest,

“Cleva clogs.” He nodded before popping the pacifier back into his mouth.

“Aren’t you just.” Mycroft kissed him on the forehead and pulled him back against his chest, not quite done with the hug just yet. “You’re the cleverest boy in the whole world, Sherlock Holmes.”

“A-huh.” Sherlock mumbled with a nod.


	3. Understood

Mycroft and Sherlock both startled from their cuddle when they heard Mycroft’s phone ring in the other room.

“Fone Pa?”

“Mm, I must have left it in my coat pocket.”

“I get it?” Sherlock asked displaying his hand’s ‘grabbing’ dexterity for Mycroft, “See?”

“Yes, I do see.” Mycroft took Sherlock’s ‘grabbing’ hand and kissed it, “You have lovely hands, don’t you Lock?”

“Mine!” Sherlock suddenly pulled his hands back to his chest, protecting them, with a scowl, from a baffled Mycroft.

“Well, yes…I wasn’t suggesting taking them.” Sherlock sighed and relaxed again, “My word you are a strange boy, Sherlock.” Mycroft mumbled, and Sherlock broke out into a broad, proud grin,

“A-huh!”

“Go and fetch my phone for me,” Mycroft ushered Sherlock off his lap and swatted him in the direction of the ringing. A few seconds later Sherlock skipped back into the kitchen holding the phone aloft, “That’s a good boy.” Wrapping an arm around Sherlock’s waist he pulled him close and looked down at the phone which read, ‘The Boss of Me’, he grimaced at the embarrassing contacts entry. It was the result of an unfortunately childlike argument (or what Greg had called ‘tantrum’) he had had with his husband. (And by ‘result of’ I mean a part of the lengthy punishment that followed.) “Oh, look at that, it’s your Da. “Hello dear,” Sherlock let out a little squeal of excitement which melted the frown on Mycroft’s face instantly.

“Yes, yes, we’re both fine…

He has been an exceedingly good boy- “Mycroft looked up and winked at Sherlock, who in turn held a finger to his lips to indicate their shared secret.

“Yes, I think we’re going to go up for a bath in a minute…

Oh really, I heard he would be there, he is a bore isn’t he…

You didn’t, Gregory…”

Sherlock, sensing that the conversation was no longer about him decided that it was now his turn to talk to his Da and started fidgeting in Mycroft’s hold and trying to reach for the phone,

“Mine now Pa?

Mine?

Mine turn?

Mine Da?

Da?

Da?!” Mycroft gave him a smack on the bum which instantly stilled his efforts to make his Da hear him, even without the aid of a telephone apparently. 

“Yes love, I’ll see you in the morning, give John a kiss from me…” Mycroft ignored the increasingly whiny and fidgety boy in his arms.

“Well I know that, Gregory! It doesn’t mean I don’t want a very public display of my love given on my behalf! The more public the better, actually…

No not really! Just tell him I love him…

Yes, here he is…” Mycroft looked up at Sherlock, then put the phone of the table and stood up, with a loud groan he hoisted Sherlock up onto the table top and handed him the mobile, “Here’s your Da.”

“Da! Pa jus made a old man noise!” Sherlock squealed down the phone that was now pinned to his ear.

“Cheek!” Mycroft landed a smack to Sherlock’s thigh and turned around to put away the drying dishes.

“He did! Ass im,” Sherlock held the phone up in the air, “Pa, tell Da you made a old man noise, you did, I heared it, tell im!”

Mycroft was about to confess just to get Sherlock to quieten down and talk to Greg when he heard his husband’s voice call through the phone “Ay, behave Lock!” and Mycroft smirked to himself.

“Sorry Da,” Sherlock sighed once the phone was pinned back against his ear before making a very over the top sigh and grumbling, “Sorry Pa…Did you hear Da?...

I’m bein the goodest…

I miss you too.

In tha mornin! 

Yay!

Promise.

Love you…

Nite nite! Pa, is Da again.” Mycroft dried his hands and turned around, taking the phone of Sherlock,

“Yes dear, I love you too, goodnight.” Mycroft hung up the phone and slipped it into his back pocket before taking Sherlock’s head in one hand and squeezing his cheeks, “Bath time little monster,” he kissed Sherlock on the nose, “Let’s go.”

Mycroft lead Sherlock up the stairs by the hand,

“I wonder if you can count all of the stairs on the way up, hm?” Mycroft asked,

“Of cors!” Sherlock spluttered, “Easy! One…two…three…uh-oh!”

Mycroft stopped and turned to look down at Sherlock, “Dear?”

“I lost a sock!” Sherlock gaped up at Mycroft and kicked one sockless foot.

“Well so you have, we’ll find it later, come on, keep counting.” Mycroft started to lead the way again,

“Seven…teen- “Sherlock started improvising running out of numbers that he knew well, Mycroft grinned to himself as they climbed,

“Eleben…”

“Close enough.” Mycroft chuckled under his breath.

“Finish!”

Mycroft stopped again and turned to look over his shoulder at Sherlock, “There are still three more steps darling,”

“I know,” Sherlock leaned towards Mycroft, “Buh thas all the numbers I remembers.” He whispered.

“Oh!” Mycroft tapped the side of his nose, “Good thinking, that’s why you’re the smartest boy.”

“A-huh!” Sherlock nodded, beaming. Mycroft ruffled his hair,

“Come on let’s run your bath.” They continued to walk towards the bathroom.

“How comes the baf is runnin when it’s got no legs?”

“Well…” Mycroft paused for a moment surprised by the sudden (and he had to assume unintentional) riddle from the three-year-old genius, “It’s because the water is running.”

“Is got no legs neither!”

“Good lord Sherlock that was appalling grammar even by your standards.” Mycroft sighed.

“Huh?”

“Oh nothing, I’m just talking to myself in my old age…”

“Ha, Pa’s old!”

“Not that old.” Mycroft grumbled as he lightly pushed on Sherlock’s shoulders until he sat down on the toilet seat and leaned across to start running the bath water. “I will be one minute, I’m just going to get you some clean pyjamas, you stay right there- “

“Kay.” Sherlock cut in, his eyes focused on the filling tub.

“Ah, ah,” Mycroft gently turned Sherlock’s head back to look at him, “Listen to me, Lock, do not move from this spot, no touching the water, understand?”

“I said kay!” grumbled an exasperated Lock.

“Hey!” Sherlock looked back up at Mycroft and his pointed finger, “Watch the attitude or I can warm your backside before the water does.” Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

“Yessir.” Sherlock nodded so fast that Mycroft made a mental note to congratulate himself on that one, later once the boy was asleep. 

“Good boy, I’ll be one minute.”

“Pa?”

“Lock?”

“Book?”

“Sorry?”

“Book for story?”

“Oh, sweetheart, of course.”

When Mycroft returned Sherlock was dutifully sat on the toilet seat, one foot hooked up, so he could count his toes.

“Ah, brilliant boy, right where I left you.”

“Yep, I’m bein good.” Sherlock agreed without looking away from the important task of toe counting. Mycroft put down the pyjamas and book he had collected from Sherlock’s room before rolling up his sleeves to test the water and turn off the taps.

“Right, all set.” With that Mycroft stood up straight, stretching his back and hearing it crack, he ran his wet hands through his hair as he stretched and looked down at Sherlock who suddenly pointed a long arm at him,

“Pretty.” The tiny genius declared.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re pretty.”

“Why thank you.” Mycroft was suitably caught off guarded by the announcement, but Sherlock was already distracted by the bath full of water,

“Ready?” he asked with a tilted head.

“The bath certainly is but you are not, let’s get you undressed- “Mycroft moved towards Sherlock, but the younger man jumped to his feet,

“I do it!” and with that he started to tear off his own clothes, the pyjama bottoms were easy enough but the top proved slightly more troubling for the boy, “Lost!” he finally declared once he had managed to get both arms caught behind his back and his head wrapped entirely in what was intended as chest material. 

“Oh, so you are, one moment I’ll find you.” Mycroft managed to pull the t-shirt off of Sherlock’s head with a couple of tugs and he emerged from his cotton prison grinning, hair completely wild, “There you are.” Mycroft grinned back.

“You found me!” Sherlock chirped, and Mycroft kissed him on the forehead, 

“Always. Now in you get,” he nodded his head in the direction of the bath and Sherlock approached the edge before holding out his hand for Mycroft who carefully helped him in. Sherlock giggled as Mycroft groaned settling on his knees alongside the tub but sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to stop himself when he saw an arched eyebrow from his Pa.

“Story?”

“You’re very excited about this story in the bath idea, hm?” Mycroft asked slightly absent-minded as he started to wash Sherlock.

“I like stories.”

“Yes, you do. Do you like baths?”

Sherlock thought very hard about this, “Sometimes.” He said with a single nod.

“Why only sometimes?”

“I don’t like my ears- “Sherlock scrubbed the water from his ears, “An eyes- “he did the same with his eyes, “Gettin wet.”

“I know, that’s understandable.” Mycroft nodded as he continued to wash and distract the younger man, “But handsome boys like you need clean ears,” he pulled lightly on one of Sherlock’s ears, getting a good look behind it. He pretended to scrub away some dirt before releasing his ear and leaning over to kiss it. “There, that’s better.” Mycroft smiled, and Sherlock giggled. Once he had settled again Sherlock piped up in a very small voice,

“I don’t like lonely baffs.”

“Lonely baths?” Mycroft stopped washing and sat back on his haunches.

“Mm.” Sherlock nodded, not looking back at Mycroft but playing with the water.

“What are lonely baths, Lock?”

Sherlock thought for a moment, trying to work out how to vocalise what he was thinking. “Sometimes I av baffs on my own.”

“Yes, you do, sometimes, when you’re bigger.”

“Don’t like bein on my own.” Sherlock peered up at Mycroft as he spoke, almost as if he was sharing one of his deepest secrets.

“Ah,” Mycroft sat forwards, so he could stroke Sherlock’s hair, “Well, from now on you don’t have to take baths on your own if you don’t want to.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, and he smiled, looking back at Mycroft.

“Oh, no, Sherlock Holmes I know what you’re thinking. You still have to bathe young man, every day.” Mycroft pointed a finger at Sherlock to show he was serious, and Sherlock frowned. “But…from now on, if you want some company when you have a bath I will be there. You don’t have to be on your own anymore. I’ll talk to big Sherlock about it when I see him.” Mycroft tapped a finger on Sherlock’s nose and the little one smiled, relieved. “Now, I’m going to give your head a nice massage- “

“Nooo.” Sherlock pouted knowing this was Mycroftian code for washing his hair.

“But- “Mycroft spoke over the tiny protest, “I’ll tell you a nice story while I do.” Sherlock perked up a bit at the suggestion. “What story shall I tell you?” Mycroft positioned himself behind Sherlock’s head and quietly opened the book he had brought in earlier by his knee, hoping he had guessed right.

“Errr,” Sherlock thought as he scrunched his eyes closed and tilted his head back into Mycroft’s hands, “Peter Rabbit?” he half opened one eye to squint up at Mycroft.

“Perfect.” Mycroft declared, kissing Sherlock on the nose. He always guessed right. “Now close your eyes dear.” Sherlock did.

Mycroft managed to distract Sherlock long enough to wash his hair but quickly wrapped up the story when he realised the bath water was getting cold.

“Right then Lock, all done, it’s time to get out now.”

“Why?” Sherlock peered up at him,

“Because dear, the water is getting a bit chilly and I don’t want my boy catching cold.” Mycroft pushed himself up and picked up a towel, “Time to get out.” Sherlock nodded and with Mycroft’s help climbed out of the bath. Mycroft started to dry him off with a large fluffy towel,

“I’m sleepin in the big bed with you, right Pa?”

“That’s right dear.” Mycroft smiled at him.

“Soon?”

“Are you getting tired, darling?”

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded through a yawn. Mycroft thought for a moment about putting Sherlock to bed and spending some time in his study, but then he remembered Sherlock’s revelation that he didn’t like being alone.

“Well that’s a good thing, I’m getting tired too.” A now dry Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mycroft and lay his head on his shoulder. “Mm, let’s get you into some pyjamas and tucked into bed.” Sherlock reluctantly separated from Mycroft and allowed his limbs to be moved into his clothes. “Right, all done, you go and get Nelson from your bedroom and wait for me on the big bed.” Sherlock wandered out of the room to find his bear and Mycroft tidied the bathroom.

When Mycroft found Sherlock, he was sat on the floor by his and Greg’s bed having what seemed to be a very important conversation with Nelson. Mycroft turned down the bed and helped Sherlock clamber in, tucking the duvet in around him. “I’m just going to get changed dear, I’m not going anywhere.” Mycroft kissed Sherlock’s forehead and moved away, aware of the little eyes on his back, checking he didn’t disappear. 

“Pa?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you love me?”

Mycroft spluttered and spun around, “Sherlock,” he finished pulling the t-shirt over his head and locked eyes with the younger man, “Sherlock I love you more than anything.” He stated with complete sincerity, Sherlock smiled.

“Good. Jus checkin.” 

Mycroft laughed, “I’ll check you in a minute.” He grumbled as he finished getting ready for bed.

“What does tha mean?”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” Mycroft turned off the room’s main light and climbed into bed next to Sherlock. The boy turned over, so he was facing his Pa who settled leaning against the headboard. “It’s the sort of thing your Da says, and from experience I think it means ‘If you’re not careful I’ll smack your bum until you stop being so silly’.” Mycroft looked down at the man curled up next to him who giggled. 

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” Mycroft smiled, “Now,” he turned and flicked the bedside lamp down until it was just bright enough for him to read and picked up the book on the table beside him, “Close your eyes sweet boy.”

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded sleepily and closed his eyes; his thumb made its way into his mouth.

“Ah, no thumb dear.” Mycroft gently pulled Sherlock’s hand away and before the little man could complain, slipped a pacifier between his lips. He saw Sherlock smile behind the plastic and heard his loud sigh of contentment. “There we are. Sweet dreams Lock, I’ll be here if you need me.” He saw Sherlock just about manage a nod, then he opened his book and started to read.


End file.
